


Time for a Project

by PurpleFluffyCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Belly Kink, Fat Lucius, Fat Shaming, Fat fetish, Feeding, Feeding Kink, M/M, Slash, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Weight Gain Fetish, fat admiration, teacher/student relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1296235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFluffyCat/pseuds/PurpleFluffyCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius Malfoy thought he was just going along with Professor Slughorn's wishes; currying privilege with special favours was a time-honoured Slytherin tradition, after all. Little did he know, however, what he might discover about his own desires and pleasures...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time for a Project

**Author's Note:**

> An epistolary fic. It was written for mellifluous_ink, who gave the prompt, "Slughorn/student-Lucius, 'Slughorn loved thin boys--specifically, he loved feeding them.'"

 

Malfoy Manor,   
September 12th, 1971

  
  
Lucius,  
  
Need I remind you that you only have a year at Hogwarts remaining to secure your future? Professor Slughorn is not only a good friend of ours, but a highly influential man. I am appalled that you seem to have ignored this fact thus far and continue as nothing more than a general member of his house and his club; it is well known, Lucius, that the Professor selects one boy each year to receive his especial promotion.  
  
A Malfoy is not a Malfoy if he does not ingratiate himself with the people who matter.  
  
Think on this.  
  
Your Father.  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Malfoy Manor,   
September 15th, 1971

  
  
Dear Horace,  
  
I do hope you are well. You must come over to the Manor for dinner before long - too much time has passed since we last saw you.  
  
How is my dear son, Lucius, getting along? He does so enjoy his terms at Hogwarts, and I'm certain that being a Slytherin will be the making of him. He is so very lucky to have you as a House Master; he speaks of you constantly during the vacations. If you can think of any way in which he might be of help to you, I'm sure he would be delighted to oblige.  
  
Yours sincerely,  
  
Abraxas Malfoy  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The diary of Horace E.F. Slughorn, September 20th, 1971_  
  
Well, here we are, settled into a brand new school year, and I find myself again without companionable distraction. Young Codwhistle must be doing well at Gringotts after the opportunity I found for him. I daresay his luscious young arse warms the chairs of banking middle-management very nicely.  
  
It doesn't usually take me this long to find a replacement. Maybe I'm just becoming jaded? I've had my eye on several, but none of them have quite hit the spot - not yet.  
  
The plump ones are toothsome - the inviting curve of their milk-fat bellies, the wobble of chubby thighs - but where, I ask myself, is the challenge in that? An exquisite dalliance, to be sure, and I certainly wouldn't be without their soft young bodies - but a little too easy for everyday, I'm beginning to think,  
  
What I need is a project.  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The Diary of Lucius H. Malfoy, September 22nd, 1971_  
  
Merlin's scrote, what must I actually do to make the old Sluggy happy?! Father will disown me at this rate, that's for sure.  
  
I've tried arguing that charms and good looks would be all the qualifications I need after Hogwarts, but Father is insistent: no Slytherin in the past twenty years has got anywhere in life without old Sluggy's endorsement, so I had better add my name to that list, or else.  
  
Well, I'm bloody _trying_ aren't I?  
  
With the essays I steal from Cuthbertson, I'm top of the class in practically every subject. I've bought him lavish presents every Christmas and Easter for the past two years. I flash him my most charming smile every time I see him in the common room, and wear my closest-fitting robes on weekends to make sure he can see exactly what's on offer.   
  
Yet nothing; no special invitations, no nudge-nudge wink-wink, 'aren't you looking handsome today, Malfoy'.   
  
What else can I possibly do? Hell knows.  
  
Oh, blast the man! Blast him to Gryffindor!  
  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The diary of Horace E.F. Slughorn, September 31st, 1971_  
  
Today we had the annual swimming championships in the Black Lake - the last day before winter starts in earnest, teams of girls and boys from each house, no magic allowed. Of course, I don't usually bother with sports, but the swimming is different; all that eye-candy on show in scant little bathing trunks. My, my!  
  
Our girls aren't bad looking - technically speaking, that is. A few of the seventh years are filling out nicely. Ah, but the boys! The boys!  
  
Everything I thought about the elder Flint is coming true. He's practically as wide as a house now, muscle and flab layered together to make him look both formidable and hefty at once. Unfortunately, however, he's too much of a dolt to hold a conversation, let alone be taken as a companion. I do require brains as well as beauty, you know.   
  
I also rather enjoyed the sight of the youngest Goyle - being cut seemingly in two by last-year's trunks, tummy plopping over the waistband like white blancmange. He's been at the candies, that's for certain! Too young, though, that one. I'll be interested in a few years time - if he keeps tucking it away, of course.  
  
On the other end of the spectrum, however, is that scrawny little whippersnapper of a seventh year; Lucius Malfoy. His father's getting pretty desperate now, it has to be said, if I judge by his letters. Oh, there isn't much to Lucius at all - spindly limbs and a belly so flat it's actually concave beneath his ribs; knobbly knees, spiky hips. The sort of boy one could cut oneself on; not my type at all.  
  
There's fire there, though, and plenty of it. And intelligence. The jut of the jaw, the sweep of silver-blonde hair. If I loved thin boys, I'd undoubtedly go for him.  
  
Yes, if I took to thin boys, he be a surefire thing...  
  
Aha! Well, there I have it. My challenge. I said I needed a project, didn't I?  
  
I don't believe I hadn't thought of this before; it's poetry, really it is.  
  
Oh, it makes me heated to even think of it... That perfect young mouth smeared with chocolate, dreamy-high in a sugar stupor as he lay back, pinned down under the weight of his own belly. Oh! And no longer a belly that retreats under his ribcage, but round and tight and bursting. Just another one, m'boy, just one more...  
  
Oh gods. That settles it, then; I'll start tomorrow.  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts.  
October 1st, 1971

  
  
Dear Father,  
  
I have been invited to have dinner with Professor Slughorn tomorrow evening at eight. He didn't say who else would be there, but I hoped you'd be pleased.  
  
Lucius.  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The Diary of Lucius H. Malfoy, October 2nd, 1971_  
  
At long bloody last! It looks as if I might finally have made it into old Sluggy's good books.   
  
Pending a goodly number of sexual favours, of course.   
  
That's how it works around here, and who would I be to complain? The younger boys of the house are extremely accommodating when I have an itch that needs scratching, so it only follows that payment for a recommendation or two is paid in kind. It's the Slytherin way.  
  
'Dinner,' he said, this evening. I better not eat too much to perform my best; I'm sure the 'dining' part of things won't matter much anyway...  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Slytherin House Master's Study, Hogwarts.  
October 3rd, 1971

  
  
Dear Abraxas,  
  
Don't you feed your boy at home? I had him over for dinner and he barely knew what to do with my stuffed pheasant supreme. He's all skin and bone!  
  
Perhaps I should look among my students for a more genial dining companion; one who actually lasts past the fifth course?  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Horace E.F. Slughorn  
  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Malfoy Manor,   
October 3rd, 1971

  
  
Dear Horace,  
  
Firstly, allow me to apologize for the anti-social behaviour of my son. I regret that he has been ill recently and unable to do justice to his food; he is usually among the most considerate and epicurean of guests.  
  
I beg that you given dear Lucius another chance to dine with you. I promise that he will be disposed to appreciate your splendid catering talents in the proper way; please accept my personal guarantee.  
  
Yours sincerely,  
  
Abraxas.  
  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Malfoy Manor,   
October 3rd, 1971

  
  
Lucius, you Fool of Boy!  
  
I have just received a humiliating letter from Professor Slughorn; I had no idea my son had the manners of a Mudblood.  
  
If he'll deign to have you again, you'll go and you'll like it. You'll eat his food - every last scrap. Otherwise I'll personally pour it into your mouth with a funnel whether you can breathe or no.  
  
Do not dice with me, Lucius, and do not dice with your future prospects.  
  
Your Disappointed Father.  
  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The diary of Horace E.F. Slughorn, October 16th, 1971_  
  
Good, good, my letter seems to have done the trick. Young Malfoy came to dinner again last night, and applied himself to the task with much more gusto than before. He did look a little green about the gills by the end, but I daresay that'll pass when he's in training.   
  
He also seemed to think that we were going to, err, _do_ something, afterwards; I could see it in his eyes. Not yet, m'boy, not yet! I certainly wouldn't be considered that _easy_ , as it were. Oh no, he's got some work to do in the next few months, as I see it.  
  
That ratty little frame will be blooming in no time, we'll see, and then there will be no stopping him!  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The Diary of Lucius H. Malfoy, October 16th, 1971_  
  
Well, I figured him out - old Sluggy, that is.   
  
I went to dinner with him again last night - an vast spread that must have taken the house-elves all day to prepare. We chatted for a while; if six years of being in Slytherin have taught me anything, it's how to hold up my end of a conversation. He also seemed to be watching closely, enjoying himself even though I wasn't really doing anything to speak of.  
  
His eyes lingered over my mouth as I was eating, watching me chew and swallow and reach for more, and then it was obvious. The enormous dinner wasn't a prelude to whatever activities he had in mind; it was the main event itself. The old man simply wants to watch me eat!  
  
Well, as perversions go, that strikes me as pretty tame. My pals in Durmstrang are regularly tied up and whipped by their House Master, so it's the least I can do for old Sluggy to tuck away his catering. Now I know his game, I shall play it with the best of them. Roll on the next evening, or twelve.  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Slytherin House Master's Study, Hogwarts.  
November 11th, 1971

  
  
Dear Abraxas,  
  
Perhaps I will accept your kind invitation to dinner after all. Having said that, I don't yet have any substantive plans for Christmas this year.  
  
Your son has been most charming of late; it's always difficult to tell this early in the school year, but I have a feeling that he may do well after Hogwarts if his behaviour continues to please.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Horace E.F. Slughorn  
  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The diary of Horace E.F. Slughorn, December 25th, 1971_  
  
It's most unlike me to go away from the Club at Christmas, but it's only fair to say the Malfoys have put on a pretty good show. No expense spared, of course - and it is sporting of them to have given me the best suite of rooms for my stay.  
  
It does make a change to have some different company - the Zabinis came around last night, and the Flints and Mulcibers are due tomorrow, I understand. All perfectly pleasant, even if some of them are a few pumpkins short of a patch. Refreshing to have some different company - yes that's it.  
  
Oh, who am I kidding? It was all about the boy, of course.   
  
I've never done this 'feeding up' wheeze before - having preferred just to enjoy those naturally corpulent boys - but I must confess, it's rather addictive! I've become to used to watching the slide of fattening food between those stroppy young lips, I felt it wouldn't be Christmas without it.  
  
Malfoy's a clever lad, and picked things up quickly. When we're alone he catches my eye when he takes a big mouthful, carrying on talking even as his eyes flutter closed at the exquisite tastes and scents. He understands sensuality, does this one - even if he thinks of it more as a tool than an indulgence. Well, we'll see about that.  
  
He's by no means big yet, despite my efforts. I suppose I should be realistic; the boy was so painfully thin when I started, all I've managed to do is fill up the gaping shadows around his skeleton. He no longer looks in imminent danger of snapping in two, but that's about it.   
  
I wonder whether he's as quite as clever as he imagines, though. He reckons he's fully clued into this game of ours and playing it with the best of them, but has he really thought past the obvious? Thin men often have an extraordinary blind spot when it comes to their own... growth.  
  
His mother, however, might be onto it; one of those awful starved women with sullen cheeks and a corseted hand-span waist. She was glaring at Lucius when he took a third helping of Christmas pudding for me. I do _so_ admire his dedication!  
  
If she confronts him, I'm sure he'll say that he can handle it, that he's young and will burn it off in no time. Well, we'll see about that! When the new term starts, I feel it may be time to redouble my efforts.  
  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Ladies' Drawing Room, Hogwarts.  
January 20th, 1972

  
  
Dear Lucius,  
  
I have been hesitating to write this letter since you left after Christmas, but motherly concern prompts me to do so.  
  
Put simply: you must regulate your eating.  
  
I was aghast to see how much food you consumed over the last vacation, even when we had an important guest! Even though Professor Slughorn was kind enough to let the matter go unremarked, your piggish tendencies displayed the worst of manners.  
  
Furthermore, just think what damage you will do to your outline if this behaviour continues. Heavens, if you have gorged so in these weeks back at school, it might have happened already! You must remember that a Malfoy is, first and foremost, elegant. Do not squander your figure for these base pleasures.   
  
Take a good long look at yourself, Lucius. I will _not_ have a fat son!  
  
Your Distressed Mother.  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The Diary of Lucius H. Malfoy, January 21st 1972_  
  
Mother does fret so! Well, I suppose she is only a woman. She can't be expected to understand these things as Father and I do; serving the teacher to whatever he desires; it's the Slytherin way. I'll get my due reward at the end, and then she'll have forgotten all of these daft quibbles, I'm sure.  
  
Besides, what nonsense! The very idea that I might be getting fat! Sure, I eat whatever old Sluggy gives me - and he has been wanting my company more and more over the past few weeks, we must be making real progress - but that wouldn't affect _me_ , _I_ can handle it.  
  
Obviously I can! I'm slim and sexy, always have been, always will be. Light and flexible, lean and waifish.  
  
In fact, I'll prove her wrong right now! Door locked, robes off, one fine mirror, one fine body. I might even send a photo to prove my point; mother has always been proud of how slender I am, I'm sure she'll be pleased to see it...  
  
  
 _ **[A large section of the page is unusable due to spilt ink and half-written curses]**_  
  
  
NO! No, I don't bloody believe it. There must be something wrong with the mirror; someone must have charmed it to make the reflection look double the proper weight. I do not have a belly AT ALL, let alone a belly like THAT.  
  
But... gods. No charms to dispel.   
  
Bloody fucking hell. This can't be real. I can't possibly have grown thick like this. Thick and SOFT like this.  
  
Oh, Merlin. But he _has_ been feeding me a lot lately. Practically every other night. And he specifically said that it wouldn't do if I scrimped on meals in between, either; Sluggy watches me eat in the Great Hall. Oh God, maybe I _have_ packed it on like this. Mother's going to kill me...  
  
Ok, Lucius. Deep breath. Calm down. Let's assess the situation wisely, shall we? OH FUCK I CAN'T EVEN SEE MY RIBS. No, we said calm down.  
  
Ok then.  
  
Right, it's pretty bad by Malfoy standards, but I'm nowhere near as lardy as some of the others, am I? If you hit Crabbe in the belly, the shock wave goes on for half an hour. My tiny bit of pudge is nothing compared to that. Let's get this is proportion, unpleasant as it is.  
  
So, what next? Obviously, I can't stop chowing down for Sluggy's pleasure. If Mother would be displeased with a fat son, Father would likely DISOWN a son who fell out of favour just when things were going well.  
  
In the short term, maybe I could get a corset? Obviously, I'd have to take it off for eating, but in between I could squeeze my stomach back to flatness. I wouldn't mind the pain; I quite like pain.  
  
But no, that would never work. There'd never be the privacy around here to strap in, and besides, the corset-maker would likely tell mother all about it, and then she'd worry even more.   
  
Oh, if only I was good enough at charms to cast a really good glamour. There's no way I could do that though; reductions are the hardest of all.  
  
I'll just have to exercise it off, then, won't I? It shouldn't be too hard. I'll simply sign up for more Quidditch this term. Yeah, that's it - I'll make sure I burn off everything he feeds me. Should be easy.  
  
Nothing to worry about after all.  
  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The diary of Horace E.F. Slughorn, February 4th, 1972_  
  
I don't normally bother with the Quidditch, but I ambled across this morning to have a gander at the Slytherins training as young Malfoy is their Seeker this year. Now, it might be a bit early to tell, but I can't help thinking all my hard work is doing some real good. They have to be so small and scrawny to Seek properly, you see, and Malfoy was definitely looking slower and heavier than usual.   
  
The best bit, though, was when they came to practise dives - or whatever they call them - that move that involves hurtling at the ground at an alarming pace and then pulling up sharp. The 'pulling up' bit, you see, is all in the tummy muscles; that's why the Seekers are always made of sinew and nothing else.  
  
Needless to say, young Malfoy was having a fair bit of trouble with his! He looked a bit sick the first time he tried it, and after the second time limped off to the sidelines to massage his middle when he thought no-one was looking.  
  
After the amount I fed him last night, I'm hardly surprised! The boy almost kept pace with me through dinner, and even said yes to seconds of dessert. When he was finished, his little belly was pressed hard inside his robes, and even today I could see it pooching over his waistband when he sat on his broomstick. Quidditch or no, this boy definitely has potential.  
  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The diary of Horace E.F. Slughorn, February 28th, 1972_  
  
I saw young Malfoy again yesterday evening. Oho! Who would have thought the scrawny lad would plump up so well? His robes are definitely straining now, buttons creaking around the middle. He seems to have nearly given up training, too, so the fat is settling upon him more quickly now. Scrumptious.  
  
I might even start weighing him in due course - when we become more... familiar... that is. Oh, and to slip a cool tape measure about his rounding little middle when I get to see him topless for the first time - it make my fingers tingle at just the thought!  
  
But I must be patient. It takes skill to move on to phase two with a boy, I know that. Added to the usual decorum, this one needs to be comfortable in his own skin before he'll give me willing access to it - oooh, the creamy smooth acres of it!  
  
And I can look on the bright side - the longer it takes to win his trust in that way, the more I will have fed him in the meantime. What exactly will he look like? How soft? How ripe? Only time will tell, but I heartily look forward to it.  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The Diary of Lucius H. Malfoy, March 12th 1972_  
  
Now this is getting weird. Not the old man - as perversions go, his is indeed pretty mild - but the fact that I actually seem to be... enjoying it.  
  
I don't know how put it, exactly, but after the day a few weeks ago with the mirror, it's strange how things have changed in my head.  
  
There was the initial shock and then the resolution to get thin again. I did some extra Quidditch, and even some of those odd Muggle exercises (mustn't breathe a word to anyone) that are supposed to tone up a 'flabby middle.' It was hard, though - and boring - and even harder when I was so full of the Professor's food I couldn't run very fast - which I was most of the time and am even right now. The thing is, it almost made me feel sort of pleased - not being able to run fast, that is. Strange, odd, exciting.  
  
I found I kept sneaking back to strip and look at my reflection. At first I told myself it was just to assess the damage, to see whether I was losing weight with the Quidditch (even though I haven't been training nearly as hard as I said I would), and I sucked in my belly in front of the mirror to save face.  
  
But then, one time, I didn't suck in my belly at all - just let it stick out in front of me (as it does now, I can't deny it); let all my stomach muscles sag and the flesh plop forward. And it felt... amazing.  
  
I couldn't stop looking at myself. Alien and grotesque and attractive and erotic all at once. I just couldn't stop staring - even as I tentatively squeezed the newly-grown flab on my thighs and gathered the fullness of my belly into its first ever roll of fat. I should have been repulsed, but instead I found myself growing hard.  
  
I can no longer deny how I feel about all those evenings with Professor Slughorn, eating, talking, drinking and eating, eating, eating! I love them; I long for them.  
  
I know I was just doing it for the promotion in the first place – still am, if anyone were to ask. I even thought it was going to be a bit of a chore.   
  
Now, it's something far more than that. He makes me feel so special when we're together – more special than anyone ever has in a lifetime of being a Malfoy, and that's saying something, I suppose.   
  
It's also just the food, though. I have never really eaten much at all, let alone eaten to excess, and I had no idea it could feel so wonderful. The tastes! The textures! The illicit excitement... Growing up in a household where Dark Arts are commonplace, it's wonderful to indulge in something that truly feels forbidden. It's a frisson like no other, and I never want for it to stop.  
  
When he stuffs me to bursting, it hurts... like the Cruciatus, but far sweeter, and it's a pain I like; delicious, obscene.  
  
He's restrained; subtle... but sometimes he gets excited when I moan for him, and he says, "Have a little more m'boy. You can do it. Just another spoonful, won't you?" And I open my mouth as he waddles round the table with sweetmeats in his fingers and chew then all down, even when my old robes are so tight they might burst their fastenings.  
  
He's waiting, I know it; I can see it clearly now. I thought he was just being slow off the mark with taking me to bed, but he's been waiting for me to get this far; to want what he's wanted from the beginning.  
  
Oh, and I do. I want him to do things to me, to touch me and take me, and fill me until it hurts far more than ever. I've never felt like this before; pliant, submissive. I've always called the shots; chosen the boys to use and throw away - but now I want to be his stuffed little plaything, I really do.  
  
It's probably becoming obvious to the Professor as well. Even when I can barely move from fullness, I feel my blood heating and my groin throbbing, and it's all I can do to get back to my dorm without embarrassing myself.  
  
He's playing a long game, is Sluggy. I think he's testing me. It's well-known that only a very few are deemed worthy of his true favours and promotion after Hogwarts and he clearly has all the time in the world to decide who it's going to be. Well, I'll say it now - this is one test I'm determined to pass, no matter how many pints of cream I'll gladly drink to get there.  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The diary of Horace E.F. Slughorn, March 31st, 1972_  
  
Yes! Finally! I knew his robes couldn't hold out much longer, even though they were loosely cut in the first place. - But that was quite some months and a very large number of meals ago for young Malfoy; young _plump_ Malfoy!  
  
Oh, I pretended not to notice of course - it wouldn't be gentlemanly - but the sound of ripping silk and pinging buttons is difficult to miss in an otherwise quiet room.  
  
The boy shifted in his chair and covered the offending areas with one of my large napkins. I thought he'd skiddadle just then - go and change at the very least - and I was all set to be sporting about it, not to bat an eye.  
  
Instead though, the expression on his face looked like nothing more than a satisfied smile, and he sighed happily as there was (at last) nothing tight around his gut. And then - and this really sealed it - he leant over as sweet as an angel and asked with all the politeness in the world, "Could I possibly have some more, Professor? I'm still a little hungry." My heart and my cock both leapt at the question, and it took all my fortitude to restrain myself as I watched him choke down yet more pudding, imagining the swell of his belly pushing through those fabric tears.  
  
If there was any doubt in my mind before, there isn't now. He's ready. He's more than ready!   
  
Such a pity we were still dining in my office suite - I would have taken him and his bursting robes to bed then and there, had we been in my private quarters. I await the next time with barely containable excitement.  
  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts.  
April 2nd, 1972

  
  
NOTE TO MANOR STAFF:  
  
 _Send forthwith: A full replacement of day robes and three sets of dress robes. Size - 'portly', waistband charmed as fully expandable._  
  
  


*********************

  
  


The Ladies' Drawing Room, Malfoy Manor,   
April 3rd, 1971

  
  
Dear Lucius,  
  
What is the meaning of the note you sent to the elves? Why on earth are you ordering expensive garments for an fat wizard?  
  
I expect to hear a full explanation of whatever strange circumstances this pertains to by return of post. There had better be an innocuous reason; I can only dread that you have ignored my dire warnings and have yourself become so obscenely large.  
  
Either way, I shall see the state of your silhouette for myself in a week's time; it is nearly the Easter vacation, after all. Your belts had better fit, Lucius - or I'll squeeze them around your waist until they do!  
  
Your Concerned Mother.  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts.  
April 4th, 1972

  
  
My Dearest Mother,  
  
Fret not. Of course, I sent the note on behalf of a larger friend who is having trouble with his tailor. Please so not upset yourself.  
  
I regret, however, that I shall not be returning to the Manor this vacation. Professor Slughorn has recommended that we engage in concerted sessions of private study while the school will be largely empty.  
  
Your Loving Son, Lucius.  
  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts.  
April 4th, 1972

  
  
Dear Father,  
  
As I imagine Mother has told you, I shan't be coming home for Easter this year.  
  
Professor Slughorn seems pleased with me. He has been called away from the school for the past few days, but I have been invited to join him in his private quarters on Saturday, instead of just the Housemaster's official suite of rooms. I believe that staff are not supposed to entertain students there; not during term-time, at least.  
  
Yours,  
  
Lucius.  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Malfoy Manor,   
April 5th, 1972

  
  
Dear Son,  
  
Naturally, I approve of such developments, and implore you to tread very carefully. It is imperative that you make the correct impression; be obliging and accommodating at every turn.  
  
Remember, the Malfoy name and honour is in your hands,  
  
Father.  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The diary of Horace E.F. Slughorn, April 6th, 1972_  
  
I made sure there was a very large meal to be had last night; it was, after all, intended to be a very special occasion. Of course, I always feed the boy amounts considered large by any usual standards, but last night the spread was extra-special; really pushing the boat out.  
  
Young Malfoy arrived just on time, as always, gliding through the door in that haughty way of his, even though there's now a charming little waddle in his gait. His eyes bulged a little when he saw the laden table. Naturally, he knows that I eat as much as any seasoned gourmand myself, but the boy knew that most of it was going to be for him.   
  
Taking a shaky breath, his tongue moistened his lips for a split second before he greeted me. Oh, it was exquisite to watch – seeing the thoughts play across his face. Then he took in the rest of the room, saying some charming things about the decor and my choice of carpets. There was tension in the air - a delicious tautness - but the conversation flowed all the more swimmingly for it. I am skilled at such things, after all.  
  
As ever I poured us drinks and we chatted for a while, but it didn't take long before I could start to feed him. I heaped his plate tall, over and over again - lobsters in cream sauce, a whole haunch of venison with clouds of mashed potatoes, and then a glorious array of puddings - suet and jam and custard and trifle and cream and chocolate and sponge and... oh, so many glorious, wicked things.  
  
And gosh, he did me proud! Young Lucius ate as I have never seen him eat before, gobbling and licking and sucking as if he were starved, pushing on when I was certain he was going to stop - and then asking for yet another serving, to boot.  
  
I grazed to the tune of six generous helpings myself, but I did find myself distracted from my own supper by the sight before me. I was mesmerized by his laden fork disappearing again and again between those pouting lips, the way he closed his eyes to savour, chew and swallow – and then later, as he laid back in his chair, cradling his swollen, aching middle with one hand while pushing more food into his mouth with the other. Oh gods, it was heavenly to watch! So wonderful, in fact, that I had almost forgotten exactly why we were dining in my personal chambers that night.  
  
Well, I do say _almost_.  
  
As it happened, the boy made the first move. Always forward, those Malfoys, and who's to blame them?  
  
He did it after his twelfth helping of pudding, I think. "I wanted to ask your advice, if I may, sir?" Lucius said, sashaying round the table until he was nearly on my lap. "I've noticed a few changes in the way I look recently, and I was wondering whether you might find me attractive. Without any clothes on, that is?"  
  
I felt a broad smile curling my mustache. "Well, let's see, shall we?" I said, and led him into the bedroom. Simple as that!  
  
Stripping the lad was a treat in itself. He'd obviously had to buy new robes since the ripping incident (I chuckle just to think of it!), but even these larger ones were beginning to look a little snug in places. I pointed that out jovially before even laying a finger on him, and the most delightful blush stained his pale cheeks. How lovely that he seemed suggestible, I thought, and then set about liberating that lovely young flesh from its casing - slipping one button away at a time, lingering over it, not wanting to rush.  
  
As he'd framed the whole thing in the charade of a question, I decided to run with that. “So, you wanted to know whether I might find you attractive, eh, boy?” I asked, tracing a finger round the curve of his belly while me stood there, half-naked for my pleasure. I sucked air between my teeth as if it were a matter of debate. “Well... if you don't mind me saying, young man, you have got quite a lot fatter over the past few months, haven't you now?”  
  
The blush that was on his cheeks crept delightfully down his torso; rose pink and blooming. “Yes, sir,” he murmured, all full of mock-embarrassment and tension, and the sound of it made me even more aroused than I had been just by the sight of him.  
  
I should take a moment just to record that glorious sight, I think. Although I hope that this will be far from the end of my delightful little project, the moment I had young Malfoy in nothing but his boxers and lying pliantly on my bed will surely be the year's defining image as far as I'm concerned. Naturally plump boys are indeed delicious, but nothing can compare to seeing all that wobbly, soft, pale flesh and knowing that it was all my doing. I ripened him like that. That temptingly wide arse was all down to my feeding, same for those yielding thighs. Best of all, that round, flabby gut was freshly fed with my food, tight-full and sinfully inviting.  
  
I must confess, the view made me reckless. “An interesting sight, m'boy,” I said, “But I do think you'd look better a shade rounder, don't you? Perhaps you could eat a little more for me?”  
  
He gasped a little in surprise – apprehension even – but then nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir!”  
  
I summoned a huge box of candies from my stores. He went to sit up and take them from me, but I shushed him back down to the pillows, sure that I was going to feed him by hand – and how delightful it was! He opened his mouth eagerly for me, each fattening treat slipping inside even though I had not allowed time for him to finish chewing the last. Another, and another and another. The stamina of the boy was breathtaking; he scoffed down whole meals of sweets – my whole Christmas supply! – and I was dizzied by it, floating on air; I had never imagined he would be that wonderful!  
  
Oh, and between full mouthfuls he even joined in with the talk, just as I like them to. Who's my plump little piggy then? Who's been eating much too much? Who's got all round and fat and flabby?  
  
"I am, sir. Me, sir, me sir!" he squeaked and gasped, even as he gobbled sweets from my fingers, "More, sir! Make me fatter, sir, please sir!"   
  
Fatter, little piggy? You want to be fatter? "Oh, yes, sir! Stuff me, fill me, swell me, bloat me, sir! I want it all, sir. Make me huge, please sir!..."  
  
Naturally, I was happy to oblige, and kept feeding him, feeding him, feeding him, as he lay there, prone on my bed.  
  
By the time the box was empty, the boy's belly looked - and I don't say this lightly - the boy looked _pregnant_. I had never seen a young lad eat so much at one sitting in my life, even the naturally soft, gluttonous types I usually pick for these little dalliances.  
  
It was clearly hurting him, and he was clearly loving it. He was groaning and cringing and smiling, eyes fluttering closed, hands holding his middle gingerly as if it might explode at any second. A little touch of masochism in the boy: how lovely, I thought - and I traced the red stretchmarks around his navel with the tip of my finger.  
  
At that contact he fully cried out in arousal. Oh, it was worthwhile making us both wait so long for that moment alone! I swiftly followed that with ghosting caresses all over his body, and goodness! His soft flesh was so sensitive to the touch!  
  
He was crying and groaning and writhing, a dreamy expression painted across his features, and limbs splayed wide even though his belly would not really allow much movement, bursting-full as it was. He looked so fallen; so beautiful. A million miles from the scrawny thing of a year ago with hollows around his hip-bones and sunken middle - now bursting ripe, soft fat enveloping each limb, stomach as tight as a drum.  
  
Gods, I so wanted to manhandle that sweet, round gut of his - to prod at it, to make him chant how fat he was - but to be honest I didn't dare. The boy was already taking a goodly amount of pain for our pleasure, and I didn't want to risk pushing him over the edge.   
  
Instead, then, I pulled away his dampening undershorts and took him in hand, pumping his cock with all my vigour.  
  
Mere seconds later, when he was about to come, I slowed my pace, and then climbed up onto the bed to straddle him, my own great belly brushing his stretching young pot in a way that made him twist and groan for release.  
  
The final thing he ate that day was my seed. Young Malfoy licked up every drop and was still greedy for more.  
  
This may well be my best project, ever.  
  
  


*********************

  
  


The Ladies' Drawing Room, Malfoy Manor,   
May 20th, 1972

  
  
Dear Lucius,  
  
Just a note to remind you to be in tip-top physical condition by the end of term - you have a mere month to go.  
  
As you know, we shall begin matchmaking arrangements for you as soon as you finish Hogwarts; a good marriage is easily on a par with a good career.  
  
Narcissa Black is enviably slim, and is said to particularly prize a narrow waist and flat stomach in the wizards she meets. Take careful heed.  
  
Your Loving Mother.  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The Diary of Lucius H. Malfoy, October June 28th, 1972_  
  
It has been most of a term now, since I first went to the Professor's boudoir, and I wouldn't have missed a second of it. I suddenly realized that I haven't written here for months. Well, to be honest I've been too busy being fed and shagged (and doing some NEWT work in between, I suppose) to have noticed.  
  
I'm really properly fat now; it feels amazing. The others don't dare laugh - they know exactly who the favourite is, this year, and woe betide anyone who crosses him. I feel more powerful than ever around here, and for once have the looks to match. I love being big and imposing; I really frighten them now, just standing there.  
  
But of course, that all changes when I'm alone with the Professor. The others don't know how soft I am beneath my robes, how my flesh yields pillow-like to his kneading touch. How I love to just lie there for him, provocatively growing plumper at his bequest, then parting my legs for him as I never have done for anyone before.  
  
Professor Slughorn has taken to weighing me. I must admit I was apprehensive at first - I've never been anything but small and light - but the amount of pleasure he gets from seeing the numbers climb up, day by day, week by week, is enough to get me hard by itself. Sometimes I even ask for him to bring out the big brass scales when he hasn't thought of it.  
  
I thought I'd faint the first time he took my waist measurement. He'd just stuffed me bursting-full with treacle cake, so sweet and heavy in my gut. I was sitting up (just), mostly naked, and nursing my belly as it puddled in my lap. The Professor didn't say what he was doing as he slipped something long and cool about me, and a second later he was announcing my circumference with gleeful surprise - yes even _he_ was surprised I'd gotten so big. I remember what the size of my belts used to be - the one's Mother thinks I still wear, for Merlin's sake - and my new girth was just _so_ much bigger it made my head swim.   
  
The Professor quickly brought me back to earth though - he made me stand and look in the mirror while he groped my fatness from behind, my stomach overflowing his wide palms like a huge white ball. Soon I was hard as rock and begging again for him to make me fatter yet, and to fuck me forthwith. He took me from behind while stuffing the rest of the treacle cake into my open mouth, even when I was certain I couldn't eat any more. I'd never felt anything so divine.  
  
That set the pattern of things, pretty much. He has suggested we shag before eating sometimes, but I do so prefer it afterwards. There's nothing to beat the sensation of the Professor's thick cock inside of me - filling my arse so exquisitely - just as my gut is filled to bursting. The two together are mind-blowing. I never want it to stop.  
  
That makes me sad, of course, because I know it must. Professor Slughorn will take a new boy next year, when I'm gone, but I'm determined he'll always remember me as the best. He says I'm the best so far, anyway. He said the other ones started off pretty big and he just made do with the flesh they had already. He's never fattened up a thin boy before - he said he's absolutely loved it; a real sense of satisfaction; he's so proud of me and my size. Well, we Malfoy's aim to please, don't we? While we're taking our own pleasure, that is, of course.  
  
Speaking of which, my parents are going to be in for a shock. Father won't care. I could be the size of a house and ugly to boot in his eyes, as long as I'm successful - and I definitely _will_ be that. Mother, on the other hand, will go spare, daft cow. She's going to make me starve it all off, I just know it. Sodding arranged marriages.  
  
Well, it's the leaving feast soon. Professor Slughorn says he's going to tell me what he's arranged for me next year straight afterwards. I'm sure it's going to be good, but I know our last night together will be even better. I can hardly wait.  
  
  


*********************

  
  


Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts.  
June 30th, 1972

  
  
Dear Father,  
  
I daresay that this will be the last letter I send before I leave Hogwarts for good. You might find my appearance surprising when we meet, but I believe it has been instrumental in attracting good favour, as you instructed. Professor Slughorn has arranged that I begin a highly prestigious post at the Ministry the week after next. He stressed that I had worked very hard for him to be deserving of such a high recommendation.  
  
Yours,  
  
Lucius.  
  
  


*********************

  
  
_The diary of Horace E.F. Slughorn, June 31st, 1972_  
  
Well, there we have it, then, the close of my project. And what a success it was! Final weight of the boy: thirty seven rumptuns and three shingles - and I hazard half of it, creamy smooth fat. Final circumference: three-and-half lengths of parchment; heavenly to maul!  
  
He might well go and run around and loose it all now, but that doesn't matter; I've had my fun. This will certainly go down as a year to treasure, and it's given me so many wonderful ideas.  
  
I wonder who I might try next? I'll certainly keep an eye of that Snape boy; I hazard he'd look divine with a little pot belly. Or possibly the latest one from the House of Black? – He certainly needs some meat on his bones to fill out the family armour.  
  
Ah yes. If there's one thing this whole adventure has taught me, it's this: I do _love_ thin boys.


End file.
